


i am become death

by borrowedtime



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Set b4 Thor 3, cos I wanna know more about Hela b4 the whole battle so I wrote it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedtime/pseuds/borrowedtime
Summary: Hela, in the time before.





	i am become death

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am obsessed with Hela. This is set before Thor 3, FYI. 
> 
> Dagny is a character created for this fic because I'll be damned if Hela isn't a queer of some sort. 
> 
> Title from an Oppenheimer quote.

She sat in the void and waited. All those years, it could have been a thousand or more, she only waited. Hela had gathered herself up and kept her morale, thinking, only a god can kill another god. Allfather, you cannot live forever.

Hela stared out at the bars of her cage. Odin, in his limited imagination, had seen to build her a cage like a cell; black bars and black walls and black floors. He had given her a bed, though, to prove he was not some monster. To prove he was less of a monster than she. Hela had assumed, of course, when finding herself in this position, that he had built this little realm just for her to inhabit. Far enough away from Asgard that she could not draw the power to escape, yet close enough for him to know where she was whenever he should need to. 

Funny, she hadn't known that he was capable of building new realms.

The first hundred years, she had been filled with an undying rage. Then, Odin had sent guards, from some shadow planet, not the Asgardians that would remember her lest they seek to spark some of revolution. Hela had killed those guards, and more guards after, till she had killed enough guards that Odin decided to do away with them altogether.

Later, and later still, she only grew impatient and restless. It would not do for Hela to be so far from the very place she was born to inherit. So she paced, endlessly, moon and sun turning their backs on her. She had just enough power to pull two small shards of black daggers out of herself and sharpen them together, over and over. 

Her war paint smudged and faded, sloughing off. Her battle armor began to wear with use. Soon, Hela stopped keeping track of the time altogether. She only watched the sun and the moon chase each other across the endless sky. Contrary to popular belief, Odin had not sent his only child to a boundless, ebony void. He had given her a view of the sky, with its weather and its brilliance, and the fields too. Green fields that she wished to set alight more often than not, but it was not entirely unlike some section of Asgard to look at. A cruel joke. 

Around the four hundredth year of her capture, Hela received a letter. She had thought it odd, at first, that Odin would deign to send his greatest regret some small folly. Then, upon opening it and seeing the message scratched across its page, she realized it was not Odin that had sent it at all. Some solider believed she was still the true ruler of their great land, and had decided to send her the news that Odin had had a son. A golden son. Thor.

The letter lit itself aflame as soon as she could catch the words, imbued with some kind of magic or another. Hela had chuckled dryly and then screamed. Her daggers flung themselves at the bars of her cage. They rattled and scrapped in response. He had intended to replace her, then. 

There was another letter, not soon after the first, to let her know of another son born to Odin. The letters soon stopped after that, perhaps Allfather had caught wind of his treacherous soldiers's schemes, or they had thought their duties done. Either way, Hela lost her connection to the outside world and the waiting began again. 

She supposed in some small way it was her own fault for getting captured. Really, she should have planned for this. That Odin would do something so dire as chain his heir to his own life's blood in some vague way that she gathered involved the dark elves in some shape or form. It was exactly the kind of thing Odin would have done, after she had slain all but one Valkyrie. Traitors, they were, to swear to protect the throne and then attack its heir at the slightest provocation.

All that death had made her stronger, too strong for any other action to do be taken. She should have killed Odin when she had the chance. Now, she never would. Now, she would be doomed to live out her wasteful days in his cage until someone decided either to kill the great Odin himself or he ascended to the halls of Valhalla. The latter which he would never do, in fear of her release, unless something equally dire were to befall him. 

Hela wondered what story Odin had spun for Asgard to hear, about his heir. She would feature heavily as a traitor, no doubt. All of Odin's stories where he was a victor featured a traitor. A traitor to the crown, a traitor to the cause, a traitor to good. Asgard would believe him, too. Odin was nothing if not an accomplished liar. It was little surprise, Hela mused, that he created a son called the God of Mischief. 

Hela remembered the story Odin had told her of her birth. Frigga had labored day and night to bring their firstborn into the world. And when she did finally arrive, two crows flew past their window. One perched on the windowsill itself. It was a sign, an omen of sorts, but they had not known what it meant. He had told her that she was Asgard, it's very future. She didn't suppose he knew then how truly connected to Asgard she would be. And what forms she would take. 

Then there was that business with the cat. Hela was young, a child, when she saw the old cat and his stumbling walk. A clear weakling, yes, but beyond that she also saw pain. It was not right for the cat to be living as it was. It needed an eternal rest. So, she stole into the kitchen and took a knife when no one was looking. 

Her mother was horrified and asked her to explain herself. Hela told them, she could feel death ready and waiting, so she bade that death be brought. It was a mercy. Odin calmed his wife and asked Hela to tell her story again. She heard them fighting later that night, something that she would not piece together until many years later as being about her true title. Frigga refused to let their only daughter, their firstborn, be allowed to continue such behavior. Odin said that if no one were to teach her then, it would only grow worse. 

Odin told Hela, about a week later, that her parents had decided that she was allowed to begin training. She was excited, at the time, for a blade in Asgard was an honor. She had seen to Valkyries train in the castle grounds for many years, and had the mind to join them too, if not for the fact that she'd had to renounce her titles. 

Odin let his captain of the guard train her. She picked up sword craft quickly, something in her snapping as she soon as she held a sword. It felt as natural a breathing, or perhaps, even more natural than that. It took a year or two, before she moved onto other war craft. 

One morning, she was training with the captain. Her weapon of choice had been two short swords then, for dual wielding gave her more attacking options. She had overpowered him quickly, disarming him within minutes. And then, she couldn't tell for the life of her, if what happened next was truly an accident.

She slid one sword up into the belly of the captain, overextending herself when she should have hesitated and listened to his calls of defeat, and promptly sliced him open. Blood spurted over his tunic and over her. Bloodstained, she knew what she should have felt was horror. It was a terrible accident and a terrible incident to lose such a skilled fighter. But she didn't feel horror, she didn't even feel panic or joy or glee. She felt content. Yes, she thought, this is what I am meant to be. She watched the life drain from the captain's face and her heartbeat slowed. 

She presented the news to Odin with blood still on her face, with one of his crows perched on her shoulder. He told her to train with the Valkyries, everyday, in response. You will be better than even them, he said. 

Her parents couldn't very well ignore the reality of the situation after that. Frigga, with pursed lips and a deep sadness in her eyes, pronounce Hela as the Goddess of Death at a ceremony a week later. It was then that her father had decided she was ready for real battles, as she had grown as tall as she was likely to and her childish form shed for an adolescent one.

Then, she became his weapon. And, later, when she explained how death had empowered her, she became his executioner. Frigga had told her, directly and without hesitation, that it was below her station to be in such a crude job. Hela had nodded and tried to explain the situation as best she could, but couldn't quite get the words out to her mother that every death since her birth had given her power.

She had loved her mother, despite her objections to her true nature. Hela wondered if Odin knew that she had felt, physically, Frigga die. She was aware of every death as it happened, in some vague way, like a phantom limb. But Frigga's death she had felt like a knife into her stomach, twisting and twisting, until it left. Hela said some prayers for her mother, kneeling in her cell, and wondered how she could have let Odin lock away their only daughter. 

Do you regret it, mother? She wanted to ask. Or do you, too, believe me only to be a monster? 

She had thought her daughter odd enough when, after their first battle, she brought back a gigantic wolf pup. She had said no immediately, upon seeing a hulking black figure, with its snapping teeth and wild eyes. She said she would not let her only daughter have that thing for a pet. Hela had whined that it was abandoned and only a puppy. He had nowhere to go. 

Frigga looked at her daughter's bright green eyes, set around smudges of black war paint, and set her jaw. No, she had said again, until an hour later she relented. The pup was as big as Hela was, and Fenrir grew even bigger after a year. He truly was monstrous beast, to everyone but Hela. He killed a few guards until Hela was able to calm him. And thought he mistrusted her, Hela was pleased to know that he had never attempted anything violent with Frigga. 

I only let her keep that thing, she overheard Frigga telling Odin, because it is so large to guarantee that after every battle she will return to me. 

Small victories, Hela had thought at the time. But Odin had taken Fenrir from her too, when he imprisoned her. She wasn't sure what it had taken, really, to best her beast. How many men did he lose, trying to fight the only loyal creature Hela had left had her disposal? Hela wished he had lost double that, in her days of endless rage. The future Queen left here to rot, without a sole companion to ensure she did not lose all her wits. She wished for Fenrir, in those first years of capture, until she could not bear to wish any longer.

They had won many battles together, but it would seem that they were not fated to win the war. Asgard would move on, with Thor and with Loki, and without the one that they might remember as the true heir.

She had seen, in a dream, the crackling of lighting and the roar of thunder, one night. She awoke in her cage and she knew then, that it was another omen sent invariably to many gods other than herself. So, she deduced, Odin had himself a son to be called the God of Thunder. Much more palatable than the Goddess of Death, she supposed. She did not let herself wonder much about her brothers, for she knew that when she escaped, that they would be her competition. They are replacements, she told herself, empty husks fill the void where I once existed. Nothing more.

She gathered, regardless, that Odin was likely to give Thor her hammer. Such a weapon would be bestowed upon anyone except the Prince of Asgard. Odin would probably spin some tale about having had it made especially for Thor, too. Such was his way. 

Hela had itched to know, then, if Thor knew of his sister's existence. Do you know, brother? She wanted to ask. Do you know that there was one who came before you? There was no way to tell, and of course, there was nothing sent to give her any indication that Thor knew of her existence at all. Doomed to silence, Hela pushed the thoughts of her siblings aside, lest her isolation give away to insanity.

So, she thought of the times before. Around the middle of her spell of victorious battles, Hela had taken a lover. Her maid was an ever-present constant in her life and had never complained of the blood she washed out of Hela's clothes. But it was more than that, Dagny was a source of comfort whenever Hela felt unsure about herself. Dagny would laugh and joke with Hela as she dressed her for battle. It was of little surprise, to Odin had least, that the young Hela had fallen for her maid. He had joked, when she told him of their relationship, that he thought she might have fallen for a Valkyrie before her own maid. 

She had smiled and relaxed, seeing no anger in his expression, and replied that she knew it was forbidden. Valkyries were only permitted to have relationships with other Valkyries, lest it weaken their resolve for defending the crown. Having a relationship with the crown itself was similarly forbidden, for love was said to cloud judgement.

They had began a tentative courtship of sorts. It was not the traditional sort, for Hela knew eventually that she would be betrothed to a Prince of another land when the opportunity presented itself. But, it was their own. They spent many nights together, in Hela's quarters or tent, and they drew comfort from one another and stole kisses where they could. Dagny always took great care of Hela if she was ever weakened, in body or in spirit. 

Once, Hela was badly cut and sent to the healers to recuperate, and Dagny stayed there every night until Hela woke up. Hela had told Dagny that she loved her, then, not knowing what it would cost her. She knew she wanted to marry her, then, too. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. 

They spent their days in a relative peace. Dagny had laughed when Hela told her drolly that her latest battle wasn't as much of a challenged as she would have liked. She had never complained when Hela practiced throwing her knives across the room, hitting the walls with their sharp edges. Dagny led Hela through her anger and resentment, as she grew increasingly restless with her father's intentions and inability to keep to the lessons he taught her. Dagny never told her to be less bloodthirsty, though Hela supposed that would've been like telling a wolf not to hunt. Dagny had loved her, even the darkness that festered within her, without any hesitation. 

Hela wished, in her cage and on her lonelier days, that they had fought less and loved more. So many hours wasted over frivolous fights and pointless arguments, when they could have been at peace with each other. They had such minor disagreements, but to Hela now, they were wasted minutes. See Father, she thought, even a monster can love and keep regrets. He did not tell her what became of Dagny after her capture, but she dreaded to think what would happen when the woman inevitably announced her public support for Hela.

Hela could not understand her father. They had crushed so many other realms under their superior heel, just like he taught her. They had won more battles than she could count, and won them well. Those that had been unfortunate enough to die had been laid to rest peacefully and respectfully. It was only then that he decided to fall back on his word and his teachings, to become something more and something that the other realms might hate a little less. As if he ever cared for their opinions. 

Just when he had spoken of allowing her succeed to throne that would hold together six of nine realms underneath an Asgardian reign, he talked of allowing them to defect and to form their own monarchies again. To undo all the progress that they had made. When she had immediately refused to allow him to do so, and told him that it was a folly and an insult to the good men's lives that had died for them, he told her to never question the will of the Allfather again. He told her she enjoyed battle more than was healthy, he told that she had a bloodlust that was unquenchable. She had asked him where she supposed she had learnt that, while staring down at her father with a cold glare. He had made the mistake of allowing her to walk away and to begin planning. He had made many mistakes that day. 

When she tried to usurp the throne, Odin had told her that what she was committing was a grave betrayal. She had shot back that the greater betrayal was going back on all he had taught her, to take on a life of benevolence. It was a shame that he sent the Valkyries after her, she would have rather them alive. But he had to have known that even they wouldn't stop her. She knew their fighting style too well and her power had grown too great. In his old age, he had gotten weak and fallen back on his old tricks. Having others die for him. It was easy, she supposed, to think you should send the young ones into battle when your spine is no longer straight and your hands no longer steady.

You cannot live forever, Allfather.

And so, she continued to wait. The true heir would not fall before the great Allfather of Asgard, she willed herself to hold onto whatever was left of her. One day, one day, she would be free.

When she felt Odin leave their existence, to take on their other life, it was as if chains had been lifted. She awoke to a sharp feeling of absence. Something had been cleaved from her. It felt as if her limbs were no longer underwater and she could feel their true weight again. She stood, the cage melting away, and breathed in what freedom tasted like. Clean air, and Asgard. She stood and a portal appeared. 

Yes, she smiled and allowed herself the thrill of the victory, I have won this waiting game.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. :)


End file.
